


WTNC Inktober

by AShadowspinner



Category: When The Night Comes (Visual Novel)
Genre: Blood, Fan Hunters being little brats, Non-graphic injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-07 03:09:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 9,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16400216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AShadowspinner/pseuds/AShadowspinner
Summary: Drabbles for WTNC Inktober.  Originally posted to my WTNC tumber (midnightsrambling).  Rated T to be safe with the violence and dancing that SFW line.





	1. Lunar

Moonlight filtered in through the trees, bare branches casting grasping shadows along the forest floor. The hunter moved carefully through the dead leaves that littered the floor.

Their prey had good hearing after all.

They’d used to love the night, when the full moon shown over head, turning the world into an alien plane.

Of course, that was before they started hunting.

Now the full moon brought back twisted memories, grasping nightmares that clawed at their waking mind. For the hundredth time they check to make sure their weapons were ready. That the bullets in their gun were silver.

The worst part of it was the phantom pain the full moon seemed to bring. The limb was three years gone but it still ached every full moon.

A flash of metal caught their eye, a sharp glint of moonlight. They froze where they stood, dark eyes scanning the twisted shadows.

Another flash, to their right this time. It took all their will power not to turn and follow it. If their prey hadn’t already sensed them, smelled them, then they didn’t want to give away their position with a stray movement.

The leaves crunched behind Blythe and now they knew the creature was toying with them.

Their sword slid free with a soft hiss, the blade a sliver of silver moonlight. As loath as they were to admit it, their enemy had chosen as perfect spot for an ambush. The trees were too close for their flintlock to be effective. The same was true with the liquid fire in the bottles on their hip.

Another crunch of leaves and this time Blythe turned, seeking out their foe in the broken moonlight. Their eyes met that of their prey, brown eyes staring into glowing yellow orbs until stark white teeth split the shadows.

The lycan charged.


	2. Wounded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Matilda (Tilda) and Blythe are both OCs. Blythe is my main hunter and Tilda's their sister who used to be an enforcer and now works in the records department.

"What do you mean you can't be sure?" Matilda slammed her fists on the doctor's desk, the picture of fury in day old stockings. "How can you not be sure?"

  
The doctor, a tired looking man with grey shooting through his red locks, pinched the bridge of his nose. "It means we don't know what the outcome will be, ma'am. Even with the best case scenario, there's almost no chance of saving their leg. That much blood loss... you're honestly lucky they survived even this long."

The look Matilda gave him had sent lesser men scurrying home, but he weathered it with tired acceptance.

"You're supposed to be one of the best. Why can't you do something?"

He sighed, glancing towards the bed that housed the patient in question. "As I've said ma'am, we are doing our best. But the amount of blood loss alone should have killed them already. And considering the chunk of their leg that got taken out..."

Matilda opened her mouth again and the doctor braced himself. But before she could say anything, a thin voice spoke up from the bed.  
"Tilda?"

Instantly the anger vanished, replaced by worry and weariness as Matilda rushed to her sibling's side. "I'm here Blythe, I'm here."

"What happened?" Their voice was soft, barely audible.

"You took a bad hit," Matilda said softly. "Something took a chunk out of your leg. They... they don't know if they can save it."

Blythe weakly shook their head. "Leg doesn't matter. Is the girl... did she make it?" 

Tears welled up in Matilda's eyes and she clutched her sibling's hand. "She's fine Blythe. You saved her."

A soft smile passed over Blythe's face. "Thank goodness."

Matilda bit her lip as her sibling sleeping back into unconsciousness, then looked up at the doctor. Unshed tears filled her eyes. "I'm sorry for the outburst. Please, the leg doesn't matter. Just save their life. They're all I have left."


	3. Silver

Tilda sighed softly as she studied herself in the mirror. Silver strands framed her face, standing out starkly against the dark brown of the rest of her hair. She was only thirty two, her hair shouldn’t already be turning silver.

  
A part of her blamed her job, both new and old. As an enforcer, she knew the silver streaked through her hair was a product of the stress of sending hunters to job after job, never knowing if they’d make it back alive and in one piece. Even now, in the records department, she saw all the reports, whether or not the hunter had been successful.

And now with Blythe as a hunter…

With a soft sigh, she pulled her hair back, pinning it out of her face. The silver strands hung loose, and she glared at them. She hated them, but refused to take her sibling up on their offer for hair dye.

Vanity was a sin she hadn’t earned the right to.

With the color on her mind, for the first time she registered how much silver was in the Enforcer headquarters. It made sense, of course, she mused as she entered the front doors.

The metal was a hunter’s weapon, a defense and an offense against the creatures that they hunted and that hunted them. Weapons hung on walls and on hips, blades, bolts, and bullets ready at a moment’s notice.

Others wore their silver as defense, both physical and spiritual. Religious symbols inlaid and engraved in the precious metal worn around the neck or on the breast.

Tilda had never been one for an organized religion, but she’d worn her own silver pendant close to her heart since Blythe’ accident.

Many enforcers also had silver in their hair, some with a few strands and some almost white.. She couldn’t help but self consciously tuck her silver strands behind her ears. The silver might be natural, maybe even something to be proud of. But Tilda couldn’t bring herself to feel that way.

Not when so many of her hunters would never earn their silver streaks.


	4. Vampire

Blythe had to admit, this was not a problem they faced normally. The problem was not the fact that they were standing naked staring down a vampire in their own home (at least not unless Tilda found out). The problem was the fact that said vampire was blocking the door to their workshop and refusing to move.

  
“Finn,” they whined. “I have stuff I need to work on.”

“You need to rest.” He crossed his arms over his chest and they did their best not to stare at the way his muscles moved.

“I did rest.” Blythe sighed, snagging their robe. Finn might not be affected by the cold, but winter was their personal enemy.

“That was not resting.” The quirk of his lips betrayed the fact that he can sense the recent events are once again running through Blythe’s mind.

Blythe raised an eyebrow back at him, a smirk playing across their own lips. “Technically I was horizontal on a bed for most of it.”

They sent a very pointed thought towards him, attempting to use his distraction to slip by him and into their workshop.

A smooth metal arm wrapped around their waist, tugging them back into a ice cold chest. An involuntary shiver ran down their spine, though they’re weren’t sure if it was from his cold skin or the fangs that trace their neck.

“You need sleep,” he murmured against their skin, the feeling of his hands sliding under their robe making things very, very distracting. “Don’t make me tie you to the bed.”

Blythe chuckled, leaning back to kiss his jaw. “Hmmm, thought you said that didn’t count as resting.”

He conceded the point with a soft kiss, eyes dancing. “Alright then, don’t make me tell Ezra you’re not resting after hunting again.”

This earned a whine from the dark haired hunter as they looked up at him and pouted. “Don’t be mean. His sleeping potions are far too potent. It’s not fair.”

“Not fair because they knock you right out or because you can’t replicate them?”

Blythe’s friendly rivalry with Ezra was a running gag between the three lovers, an entire notebook devoted to them trying to work out ingredients.

“A bit of both,” Blythe admitted with a soft yawn, then muttered a soft curse at Finn’s look of triumph.

“How about a deal then. If you rest now I’ll help you figure out the ingredients?” The vampire offered.

“Fine,” Blythe grumbled. They knew they weren’t going to win this argument, they never did. “But you get to be my pillow.”

Finn laughed as he lead them back towards the bed. “You say that like I’d argue.”


	5. Family

Blythe hummed to themselves as they headed down to the records room. It had been forever since they had last been in Lunaris, their last post almost all the way across the country. Their long curly brown hair was tied back with the purple scarf that denoted them as a hunter, their boot heels clicking on the hardwood floor. Even this late at night there were plenty of enforcers wandering the hallways and Blythe had to dodge out of the way of a couple who were too focused on their hunters’ files. They never did understand why paperwork was so important, which was probably why they were on their sister’s bad list.

  
Their skirts swished as they turned the corner, ducking under the arm of a particularly tall enforcer who was muttering something about bad handwriting and weird stains. The hallway that lead to the records room was dark, oil lamps not yet lit against the quickly approaching night. Unlike the other halls of the headquarters, this one was empty and Blythe let out a soft sigh of relief. Part of the thing they liked about their job was they didn’t have to deal with people all that much. Creatures, yes, but they were easier to deal with than humans some days.

The door to the records room opened without a sound, well oiled hinges no doubt seeing a lot of traffic throughout the day. Carefully organized files lined the walls of the room in rows of cabinets, each marked with an enforcer name, the drawers marked with the specific hunter’s name. A couple cabinets were marked with general information instead, files on creatures, diseases, and noteworthy town residents, all dictated in Tilda’s neat handwriting.  
Moving carefully to keep from giving away their presence, Blythe slipped through the stacks, towards the flickering candle light at the back of the room. True to form, Tilda was still hard at work, pouring over records to make sure they were written and filed correctly. Like Blythe, her hair was dark brown, through the silver streaks that ran through it spoke of her years as an enforcer. Blythe had never asked about those years, they’d been training as a hunter for most of them, and the short, strained letters during that time had been enough.

“Tilda!”

The older woman let out a sharp yelp and Blythe had to dodge backwards to avoid getting stabbed by her quill.

“Blythe! What are you doing here?” Tilda put a hand on her chest, trying to catch her breath.

“Harassing you,” Blythe hummed, moving over to give their sister a hug. It had been almost three months since they last saw her, they’d forgotten how much they missed her voice.

“Your transfer date isn’t until tomorrow,” Tilda remarked as she returned the hug.

“Convinced them one day wouldn’t make a difference,” Blythe admitted, shifting some of the paper work so they could sit down. “I haven’t seen you in forever.”

Tilda gave them a tired smile. “Let me finish this one report. Then we can spend the night catching up.”

“Good.” Blythe grinned, eyes dancing. “I brought wine.”


	6. Letters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zeke belongs to talisragnell on tumblr

Letters both new and old covered every empty surface of Blythe’s desk. They were stuffed in drawers, hidden in pages of books, and tied together in bundles that precariously balanced against the far wall. Hastily penned messages, drunken scrawls that somehow made it into the mail, even detailed reports earned their place of honor in the ink stained desk. Blythe saved every letter they got, whether from a friend, another hunter, or a lover. They kept each inked through that made it to their post box. Some were damaged, burnt corners and singed words from times their experiments had caught fire (not always intentionally). There was the letter from Ezra, from their first hunt that took them away from Lunaris after the move. The ink was smudged, running between words after a lycan had shoved them into a lake, but they’d managed to salvage most of it. They kept his letters pressed between the pages of an herbal, a gift from him after theirs hadn’t survived a hunt. Most were tucked into certain pages, marking the potion ingredients reminded them of him.

  
Finn’s letters, inked jokes, and risque comments, were tucked into Blythe’s journals, partly so they’d always be close and half because that way Tilda would never find them. It had backfired a couple times of course, blood staining the edges of a few after an ambush, one lost to the chaos that had followed.

  
As the largest bundle, Zeke’s were stuffed between pages of notebooks, his neat and precise handwriting dictating incidents tracing back to their academy days. There were flourishes too, when he recounted grand pranks or dramatic hunts, but Blythe always preferred the short, half done pieces that just proved their friend was still alive.

  
Tilda’s letters, of course, were always neat and long, written in between work days and sent once the full story was penned. Hers were fewer than Zeke’s, but no less treasured, tied into bundles that never left their bedside table.


	7. Potions

In hindsight they really should have known the potion was going to have a volatile reaction. Sulfur was a tricky enough ingredient on a normal day, let alone over a heat source with other unstable ingredients. But the last thing they had expected was for the potion to explode like that.

  
“What the hell went and died in here?” Zeke groaned as he pushed open the door to their dorm room.

“Your social life,” Blythe replied, grimacing as they pulled a shard of glass out of their side. “Do me a favor and hand me the blue potion on the top shelf would you?”

When no potion was forthcoming, Blythe glanced up at their roommate with a raised eyebrow.

“Please? I’d like to numb my side before having to give myself stitches.”

“You better not have gotten blood on my books again.” Zeke let out a long suffering sigh as he snagged the requested bottle.

“Wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t put your books on top of my medical supplies.” Taking the potion, they splashed it onto their side, sighing softly as the numbing took affect.

Before they could pick up the needle, Zeke grabbed it, gently pushing them back so he could see their side.

“You suck at giving yourself stitches,” he remarked dryly.

Blythe scoffed, but allowed Zeke to maneuver them. “Oh please, like you’re much better.”

This earned an eye roll as Zeke held the needle over the candle flame to sterilize it. “I don’t make explosive potions and then not go to the healer.”

Blythe gave him a pointed look. “If I went to the healer, I’d have to explain how I ended up with a few choice ingredients.”

Zeke paused, careful calculations passing through his blue eyes. “Touché. Self-medicating it is.”

Blythe stayed silent as Zeke stitched up their side, eyes drifting over to their desk. A multitude of potions sat on the wood surface, some finished and some half-done, their notebook open to hastily scrawled corrections and recipes. Zeke glanced up, following their gaze.

“What the hell were you trying to make anyways?”

“Well I read this paper about liquid fire last week...” Blythe began.

Zeke cut them off by cuffing their ear. “And what the fuck did you think was going to happen, genius?”

“I told you. Liquid fire. Not a volatile reaction that ended in an explosion.”

Zeke rolled his eyes. “You know, there are days I regret being your roommate.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

 


	8. Dark

They didn’t remember the first time they truly noticed it. There was no definitive moment they could point out in their memory. A part of them suspected it had always been there, an undercurrent that never affected their daily lives. But a part of them wondered if it was something new, somehow their fault for not noticing sooner.

  
Zeke had a darkness in him.

It wasn’t something apparent, something one would notice in a first meeting. It wasn’t like the creatures they hunted or the hunters who teetered on the edge of right and wrong. Zeke wasn’t sloppy, didn’t act without cause. He played his hand close to his chest, his face a careful mask as he waited for his move.

And so they should have known, should have suspected when he shut himself off. When their talks became clipped, his mind distant. But they were still reeling, hurt from the sudden demotion. Still in shock from the blunt, harsh letter, the sneer their enforcer sent their way. And so they wrote it off, let him drift if he wanted to. They were a disgrace, they’d understand if he thought so too.

But when the enforcer fell, his schemes brought to light, they knew. Even with the restoration of their rank, the new transfer, it nagged in the back of their skull.

Zeke had a darkness in him. And this time it was their fault.


	9. Hunt

“You sure you’re ready for this?”

  
Blythe groaned softly, glancing up from their preparations just long enough to give Zeke a long, hard stare. “My answer has not changed since the last twenty times you asked me. If I don’t get out there now, I’m never going to.”

They ignored the way his gaze flicked down to their leg, the prosthetic hidden under the black fabric of their hunting gear. Ignored the concern that washed over his face, the guilt as his fingers played across the hilts of his knives. Everyone always said the first hunt after was the hardest, the possible breaking point. They’d seen the statistics, snuck them from the doctors’ files and read them when their thoughts were too loud to sleep. They knew the success stories, the triumphant returns, the ease some had slipping right back into the fold. But they also knew the failures, the freezes that happened at the wrong moments, the flashbacks that broke hunters down, the funerals that followed. So they knew the worry that flickered through Zeke’s eyes, the nerves he tried so hard to hide. It was the same feeling that bubbled in their own chest, that made them triple check the potions on their hip, the sword at their side.

“Are you sure you want me to come with you?” He asked as they slid extra bullets into one of their many pockets and they heard it then, the quiet inflection in his voice. It was slight, too slight for most to notice, but the emotion was still there, just below the surface.

Guilt.

It had been louder the first time he visited them in the hospital, the emotion coloring each word and phrase that passed his lips. It had been their hunt together, their job to watch each other’s backs, and Blythe had still been bitten, still lost their leg to the lycan’s attack.  
With a soft sigh, they turned, looking their best friend straight in the eye. They could easily see the emotions he was trying to hide, they’d known him too long miss such obvious signs.

“Zeke, you saved my life that day. If you hadn’t been there I’d have bled out or worse.” They moved over so they were standing in front of him, looking up into his eyes. “I can’t think of a better person to watch my back in this hunt.”

A smirk played across their lips, and they nudged his backpack with their foot, earning a satisfying clink of bottles. “Besides, who else is going to carry this obnoxious amount of healing potions?”

This earned a laugh and the some tension drained out of their friend. “You mock, but we’ll see who as the last laugh when you realize you packed energy potions instead of healing ones.”

Blythe blinked slowly, glancing down at the potions on their hip. “Touché.”

 


	10. Weapon

Thunder crashed outside the workshop, the following lighting sending skittering shadows dancing across the far wall. Inside the workshop, flickering oil lamps only add to the shadows, their light focused on a single desk where a young figure lay sleeping. All around them potions bubbled and simmered, heated to the perfect temperature by spelled flames. A flintlock sat half disassembled in front of them, their journal open to sketches of the gun’s inner workings. Hastily scribbled notes in an original short hand covered the empty space, detailing comments and improvements to the design.

Another crash of lightning had the figure jerking awake, banging their knees into the table. They let out a sharp grunt, clutching the knee that still felt pain.  
“Smooth Blythe, smooth,” they muttered, voice still groggy from sleep.

With a loud yawn, they stretched, rubbing a hand over their tired eyes. The pistol in front of them seemed to mock their tired brain and they let out a tired groan.

“Alright you stupid thing.” The snagged their tools, removing the trigger. They carefully drew and cataloged each piece they removed.

Outside the storm raged on as they studied the firing mechanism. More hastily scribbled notes were added to the margins amidst their muttering.

“Need to improve the aim. Work out the misfire issues…” One note, written in English, scrawled across the page with the firing mechanism.

_Curse original designer._

Every now and then they paused. Sometimes it was to check a brewing potion, add ingredients, or take one off the heat. Other times it was to stretch, the storm making their prosthetic ache. They knew should sleep, should leave the problem for the morning. They had a hunt coming up, would need the rest.  
Instead they turned back to the dissembled gun. For a moment they stared at the gun, rain pounding the outside wall, then gave a quick nod.

The weapon went back together far faster than it came apart. Blythe made small tweaks and correction as they went, glancing back and forth at their notes. Outside the storm died down, morning’s hazy light peaking in the window as they finished reassembling the gun.

With a tired yawn, they closed the book with a snap. Test firing could wait until after they slept.


	11. Learn

Light flashed through Blythe’s vision, cracking pain following a split second later. Sound seemed to amplify around them for a second, sharp voices and the sound of wooden practice weapons striking each other sending daggers of pain shooting through their skull.

  
“Come on, get up already,” the gruff voice of their instructor growled as their vision began to clear.

Get up? When had they fallen? They blinked owlishly up at him, trying to clear their vision of too bright lights.

With a snarl, he reached down, tugging them harshly to their feet. “You going to just sit there when a creature is going after you? You want to be dinner that bad?”

Blythe grit their teeth as the world swam around them, fighting not to fall back down. “No Hunter Cooper.”

He scoffed, barely giving them enough time to bring their practice sword up before he struck again. The blow sent them skittering back, another cracking down a second later. How was he moving so fast? Why couldn’t they keep up?

Another blow knocked the practice sword from their grip and and they stumbled, falling back into a warm chest.

“Recruit Raines, what are you doing here?” Hunter Cooper growled. “Get back to your sparring partner.”

Zeke ignored him, carefully turned Blythe to face him. He studied them carefully, expression worryingly blank.

“Recruit Raines-”

“They have a concussion,” Zeke cut him off, voice low. “They need to go to a healer.”

“They need to learn how to fight someone bigger than them.”

Even without the concussion, Blythe wasn’t sure they’d have seen Zeke move. One second he was standing next to them, helping support them. The next that support was gone and Zeke slammed into Hunter Cooper with the resounding crack of wood on bone.

The sound caught the entire room by surprise, the rest of the class stopping mid-spar to watch. Blythe registered shouting, movement out of the corner of their vision, but their attention was focused solely on Zeke.

He made no noise as he fought, blow after blow raining down on Hunter Cooper’s now raised guard. The larger man’s right arm hung limp at his side, his face a twisted snarl as he was forced back. Dodging under his guard, Zeke knocked the man’s feet out from under him. Hunter Cooper crashed to the floor, practice sword falling from his hand.

Zeke didn’t stop.

Blythe winced as the practice cracked across Hunter Cooper’s chin. The entire room seemed to hold its breath as Zeke stared coldly down at the hunter. The practice sword fell to the floor with a sharp clatter, the only sound in a too quiet room.

“You need to learn how to fight someone smarter than you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was actually therapeutic to write, it's similar to how I got my concussion except I didn't have a person like Zeke to stand up for me.


	12. Rival

“So you’re my replacement.”

  
All things considered, that was not how Blythe wanted to meet Lunaris’ previous general. It wasn’t like they knew they were replacing anyone. Not like they wanted to replace anyone. Least of all someone like Piper Meriman.

Of course they knew about her. Even if they didn’t keep up to date with the other hunters they’d have recognized her name from Tilda’s letters.

Apparently Blythe wasn’t the only hunter in Lunaris with a habit of causing paperwork.

But that didn’t exactly mean Blythe liked being snapped at, even on days they hadn’t already had to deal with rude enforcers and barely enough sleep. Especially over something that was hardly their fault. It wasn’t like they had personally demoted Piper, or even known they were replacing another general.

And so they’d turned, ready to snap a dry, witty remark that would have made Zeke proud.

And froze.

Because they had been there. Knew the sting of a sudden demotion. Could only imagine how it felt for another General to be brought in from another town. Could imagine all to well what was going through Piper’s mind.

The malice drained from them and all they could offer her was a weak smile.  
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was replacing anyone.”

 


	13. Enforcer

Paperwork was honestly the bane of Tilda’s existence. She had hated it when she was an enforcer, the way hunters never seemed to understand their actions had consequences.  
And those consequences always resulted in more paperwork.

  
With a sigh, she brushed her loose brown hair out of her face. She was in the records department now, and it felt like she’d forgotten what life was like without all this bloody paperwork. She swore she even dreamed about it some nights.

Making up her mind with a sharp nod, she gathered up her bundle of paperwork. It was too late, too much to do alone, and she was honestly surprised to find herself aching for familiar company. Snagging the bottle she kept under her desk, she headed out into the dark hallways.  
No part of her was surprised to see flickering candlelight still spilling into the hall from their office. These strange murders had hit everyone hard, but Tilda knew August was pushing themselves harder than any other to try and solve them. With that on top of the normal paperwork Piper caused them, and the new paperwork for the upcoming transfers, it was probably a miracle when they did sleep at all.

Leaning on the door frame, she pointedly coughed, hiding a chuckle as they looked up with a start.

“Matilda? You’re still here?”

She did her best not to roll her eyes at the use of her full name. She’d long since given up on that front. At least it was no longer ‘Ms. Weber’.

“You’re not the only one swamped with paperwork,” she remarked, hefting her own stack. “And the records room was getting lonely.”

They sent her a tired smile, shifting the stacks so she had a place to sit. “Your sibling seems to accumulate as much paperwork as Piper does.”

This earned a laugh as she sat down. “I swear it’s not my influence.”

She put the bottle of wine on the desk with a grin. “But I do bring compensation.”

They laughed, a sound like music to her ears. “I suppose one glass won’t hurt.”


	14. Demon

To be fully honest, Blythe wasn't exactly sure what to make of Omen. They could easily remember that first meeting, the feeling of that heavy aura pressing in on them as they stood next to the blackened grass. But it was so hard to reconcile that with the being in front of them.

“Come on, you have to try this one,” Finn said, barely contained glee in his voice. 

He was pointedly ignoring the look Blythe was sending him as he pushed the drink towards the cheerful demon. It was hardly the first time they'd taken Omen drinking, but that didn’t mean Ezra was going to kill them any less.

Not that that fact made it any less fun.

Across from them, Alkar was nursing a glass of wine so cheap both Tilda and August would probably weep at the sight of it. Despite his initial grumbling, it was obvious the lycan was enjoying himself.

“What's in it? Omen asked curiously and Blythe really wanted to know what right a demon had to a smile that bright.

“Probably absinthe judging from the green coloring.” Blythe hums as Finn sent a look their way like he had wanted to be the one to say it.

_Too slow._

They were probably going to pay for that tonight if Ezra didn’t catch them corrupting Omen first.

“Absinthe.” Omen tested the word, tongue tripping on it a little due to the other drinks he'd had tonight.

They'd been here a while and Blythe was honestly a little surprised Ezra hadn’t shown up yet.

Omen took a sip of the drink, face twisting in reaction. “Oh that's hard.”

Finn barely held back his laughter, Alkar drowning his in more wine, and Blythe felt like they'd missed some sort of joke.

“Strong, Omen,” Finn corrected, voice far too cheerful. “You mean strong, not hard.”

Realization dawned on Blythe as Finn winked at them and they choked a laugh into their own drink.

“Technically it is hard liquor,” they remarked, eyes dancing as both Finn and Alkar choked again.

“It's good.” Omen shrugged, taking another sip of the drink, seemingly unaware of the effect his choice of words had on the party. “Tastes like licorice.”

Blythe took another sip of their drink, still wondering how in the world to reconcile Omen’s strong, foreboding aura, with the adorably innocent demon in front of them.


	15. Lust

They would fully admit that the idea of a partner who could read their mind made them wary at first. Their mind was a messy place at the best of times. Job details, mental report rewrites, constant reworkings of their recipe for their liquid fire. Throw in the nightmares, stray thoughts they didn’t want anyone (least of all the man they were about) to hear, and Blythe was mentally cursing whatever power deemed it okay to give vampires the ability.

A string of thoughts that, ironically, Finn found hilarious.

Of course they soon realized they could have fun with the thoughts as well. Pointed thoughts in crowded places, just tease him and watch him get worked up.

They’d been messing with him since they got back to the tavern, hot and tired from a too long hunt. The look he’d sent them when they’d walked in, relief mixed with a hunger than had nothing to do with blood, almost made them skip the warm meal they’d been craving to sate other appetites up in their room. But it had been three days since they’d had anything besides cold rations.

“You’re taking forever on purpose,” Finn remarked and they chuckled softly.

“I’m hungry Finn,” Blythe protested with a wry smile.

“So am I,” he purred in that damn tone that always sent shivers down their spine.

That, coupled with the look they gave them, devouring them with his eyes, and the fact he wasn’t the only one worked up because of the indecent thoughts they’d been sending his way, had them finally relenting and retreating to their room. Their door was barely shut before they were pushed against it, hungry lips meeting their own.

“You’re terrible,” Finn breathed against them.

“You love it,” they replied.


	16. Bite

The bite still hurt some days, a phantom pain in a limb long since gone. It plagued them most on full moon nights, the rare times they could sleep filled with nightmares of too white teeth, too hungry eyes that stared into their own.

Of course they knew they’d gotten lucky. Knew the thousands of ways it could have gone wrong. The way they could have bled out, the infections that could have set in, the one infection in particular that could have turned them into the very thing they hunted.

If Zeke hadn’t turned around, hadn’t been so quick to cauterize the wound…

With a soft groan, they carefully slid out of bed. They first rays of dawn had yet to peak over the horizon but they still slipped into a loose shirt and pants, creeping downstairs as quietly as they could.

As always, the one stubborn burner fought them, but they managed to get it lit after muttering a string of curses at it. It wasn’t until they were pouring themselves a cup of tea, pot caught right before it whistled, that they heard footsteps on the stairs.

“You’re up early,” Ezra yawned, running a hand through his sleep tousled hair and Blythe fell just a little more in love with him.

“Couldn’t sleep,” they said, passing him the mug and pouring themselves another.

“Your leg acting up again?” He asked, humming as he tasted the lavender in the tea.

“It always does on full moon nights,” they said with a shrug. “It’s like I can still feel the bite.”

Ezra nodded. It wasn’t the first time nightmares and phantom pain had driven them from the warmth of their shared bed.

“You know,” he said, wry smile dancing across his lips. “If you ask nicely, I’m sure Finn will give you a bite you’d greatly prefer.”


	17. Stars

The stars shone too brightly above them as they slipped out onto the roof. No moon offered them light, the chilly air sending gooseflesh down their bare skin. Their prosthetic ached, their movements still slow as they got used to the false limb.

With a soft sigh, they laid back on the roof, wrapping their blanket tightly around themselves. Above them the stars watched, silent, unjudging eyes in a black velvet sky.

When they were young Tilda had taught them the constellations. Late nights spent on the orphanage roof, learning the stories each one held. All the while praying that wouldn’t be their last night together. That whoever took them from the orphanage took both of them.

The first night of the hunter’s academy had found them on the roof again, tracing familiar patterns and murmuring their names. They knew they were safe, that Tilda was training to be an enforcer while they trained to be a hunter. But that didn’t make them miss her any less.

“Blythe?”

They glanced up just in time to see the relief wash over Zeke’s face, followed by a string of curses.

“At least leave a note next time,” he muttered as he pulled himself out onto the roof. “Save me the heart attack.”

“Okay, mom,” Blythe grumbled, shifting so he could sit next to them.

“Thought something got you,” he mumbled, pulling them back into his chest. “Why are you out here anyways.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” they said, closest they’d get to admitting to the nightmares. “Wanted to see the constellations.”

  
Zeke sighed, a deep rumble they could feel in his chest. There was a long moment of silence before he spoke again.

“So, which ones can you see tonight?”


	18. Love

It was a strange feeling, Blythe mused as they woke up in a tangle of limbs. It was hardly the first time they’d woken up like this: tangled limbs, memories of lust-filled kisses, of breath catching, groaned and gasped names. They weren’t shy about it, a hunter’s life was too short for what ifs, but it wasn’t like they sought it out either. If it happened, it happened, and in the morning nothing had changed.

But here, here it was different. Glancing beside them, they saw Ezra’s dark, freckle-dusted skin, the shot of white in his messy dark hair. They could feel Finn curled around behind them, cool skin a sharp contrast to their cocoon of warm blankets. His iron arm was draped over their hips and in that second they realized just how safe they felt. It wasn’t a feeling they were used to, not in their line of work, and not something they expected to find in the arms of a vampire and a witch.

“You’re thinking too loud thoughts for this early in the morning,” Finn murmured, pressing a kiss to the side of their neck. “Go back to sleep.”

Blythe gave a soft hum, already drifting back off.

Maybe this time, things would change.


	19. Witch

They weren’t sure when it happened. It wasn’t something sudden, out of the blue, like it was in so many stories. Instead it snuck up on them, like one of the creatures they were so used to hunting.

Logically it started the first time they’d met Ezra, ducking into his shop to escape the gloom. They didn’t know what they’d been expecting the owner of the shop to look like, but it certainly didn’t include that soft smile and those bright emerald eyes. Nor had they expected Ezra to offer them his couch for the night.  
Of course, then they’d met Finn. Well, more accurately were pinned to the wall and threatened by Finn, which sent any thoughts about Ezra flying from their mind.  
They did find a reason to come back though. At first it was just to pick up ingredients for their potions. Then they’d mentioned the potion they were working on, the recipe that was giving them trouble, and Ezra had flashed them that (adorable) smile and made a few suggestions of his own.  
And so it became a habit for them, coming over and working with him on whatever potion caught their shared interest. And it was during one of these days, they glanced up, saw the way his green eyes danced as he looked over the potion, and it struck them.  
I have a crush on Ezra Lyon.  
And judging from the cough and the look his (equally hot) vampire boyfriend sent them, Finn had hear that thought loud and clear.


	20. Evidence

Blythe threaded their fingers through their hair, a harsh sigh hissing through their teeth as they stared at the paperwork on Zeke’s desk. It couldn’t be true, he would have told them, he would have said something before he left.

  
But even as they considered that, they knew it wasn’t entirely true. He’d been withdrawn from them lately, not that they were exactly reaching out themselves. The sudden demotion had caught them both by surprise, not to mention the humiliation of their enforcer calling them on it in front of a group of hunters.

But to think Zeke would go this far.

The paperwork on his desk painted a clear picture, and Blythe isn’t sure where he got half this information. They recognized their handwriting amidst the piles of paperwork. Their case, the one they had been working on before the demotions. Their careful notes on the recent vampire killings. They’d thought they’d thrown them away, too sore to look at them after being written up for wasting resources making a case where there was none. The enforcer had told them all the deaths were unrelated.

And they’d believed him.

But here, here it was clear right before their eyes. Zeke had followed the trail after they had given it up. Had found not only the solid evidence they’d been missing, but traced the trail farther back, higher up.

“Zeke, why didn’t you say anything?”

Panic shot through them as they saw the name scrawled in Zeke’s telltale handwriting, realizing exactly where their friend had gone.

They grabbed their sword, the vial of potions that hung on the wall, and spun out of the door.

“Please don’t have gotten yourself killed.”


	21. Drink

Looking back at it, they could probably only partially blame it on the alcohol. In that regard, they could also blame Zeke, since he was the one who’d snuck said alcohol into the dorms in the first place.

  
Then again, considering the alcohol factored into their original bet…

Blythe groaned, rubbing their temples. These mental calculations were giving them a headache to rival their hangover.

“Why did I agree to this again?” They muttered, staring at the twin stacks of paperwork on their desk.

“Because you didn’t think I could sneak that bourbon out of Professor Lane’s study.” Zeke shot them that smug, asshole, grin of his when they looked over, the one that made them want to punch him in the teeth or spike his coffee.

“It was a passing remark,” Blythe protested, glaring at their roommate. “You weren’t supposed to take it seriously.”

Zeke stretched and even his yawn was smug. “You weren’t complaining when you were drinking it last night.”

“That’s because I underestimated your procrastination streak and the amount of paperwork you hoarded.” Seriously, Blythe hadn’t realized they’d gotten this amount of paperwork in the last year.

Zeke shrugged, swinging his legs down to the floor. “I had more important things to do with my time.”

“Like run a smuggling ring and lift perfectly aged bourbon.” Blythe stretched, wincing as they heard their spine crack. As much as they were complaining, a bet was a bet and they were going to have to do this mountain of paperwork.

Zeke patted Blythe on the head, humming cheerfully. “Have fun. I’m going to go bother our neighbors.”

Flipping him off as he left the room, Blythe muttered a curse against whoever had spawned that smug asshole.

It wasn’t until they were halfway done with the first stack, still nursing the hangover, when an idea for revenge occurred to them. Zeke had told them to leave the middle name section on the documents blank. Apparently despite the betting pool to the contrary, he didn’t have have a middle name. A slow smirk slid across Blythe’s face as they studied the paperwork.

Didn’t have a middle name yet.


	22. Immortal

The name on the gravestone was worn, both by time and the number of times he’d traced the all too familiar letters. Not that he needed to see them, not that there was any way he’d forget the name so lovingly etched into the stone. Gabriel. His friend, his lover, the other half of his soul, ripped from him and buried in the cold earth without him. Even with the countless years separating them, the lives and decades since Finn had last held him, he could still hear Gabriel breath his name, feel the warmth of him in the too short time they’d had together and, on the bad days, still see the life slipping from his eyes. They’d been with each other until the end, Finn had held him as he died, had accepted his own end as it came.

  
And then it hadn’t.

His own peace was stolen from him, taken by the same creature, the same monster, that had stolen Gabriel from him. And so he was forced to continue on. Forced to continue without the other half of his soul.

He’d loved again of course, despite promising himself he wouldn’t. He’d loved again and watched Eleanor grow old. She’d died without him at her side, but that didn’t make it sting any less.

At least her death had been peaceful.

And despite himself, he fell in love again, with emerald eyes and that too kind smile.

And now on the bad days he didn’t just remember Gabriel’s death.

Now he dreaded that third tombstone in the too quiet cemetery.


	23. Lycan

Blythe was only half surprised to see Alkar sitting in the tavern as they walk in after a long day. Despite the way the townsfolk reacted to the lycan their first day in Lunaris, apparently he’s not exactly a rare sight in the place. Not that it stopped the patrons from glaring at him as he watched ignored them in favor of his drink.  
With nothing better to do, and a fair amount of curiosity buzzing in their skull, Blythe made their way over to the table Alkar was occupying. Considering the rest of the tables around him were empty, it wasn’t exactly a hard feat to do.

  
He glanced up as they approached, raising an eyebrow before shoving the chair opposite him back with his foot. Taking the invitation, Blythe slid into the table, forcing themselves to actually breath. It wasn’t anything against Alkar, but it was only the second time they’d been that close to a lycan without a weapon in hand since they’d lost their leg.

“Didn’t expect to see you back,” they said, earning a huff as he took another drink.

“And why’s that?” He gave them an almost wary look and for a second they wondered if he could sense their own apprehension.

Blythe shrugged, waving at the barkeep for their usual. “Considering the reception you received last time, it didn’t seem like this was a usual thing.”

That actually earned a laugh and Blythe found themselves relaxing slightly at the sound.

“Ran out of the stuff I had stashed, and since this is the only place in town with booze…” he trailed off, grinning as he moved the tankard closer to them.

Taking the invitation, Blythe raised an eyebrow before taking a careful sip of the drink. Eyes going wide, they coughed, passing the glass back over to him. “Goddamn, that’s cheap.”

Alkar chuckled softly and Blythe felt like, somehow, they’d just passed a test.


	24. Forest

Tall trees rose around them, bare branches stretching up into the sky like grasping fingers. Dead, decaying leaves littered the ground, the crescent moon overhead barely casting shadows to light the hunter’s path. Each step was careful, shifting the leaf litter with a bare minimum of noise. Above them there was a scramble of claws and they whirled, blade glinting in the bare moonlight as the creature leapt.

  
It hit them in the shoulder, creature and hunter tumbling into the dead leaves and dirt. Blood speckled the ground and the vampire hissed as the silver blade bit into their shoulder.

Both combatants separated, eying each other other through the trees. Glowing red eyes met stoic brown, the world around them too quiet, holding its breath. The vampire clutched at its shoulder, teeth bared in pain. Blood dripped down the hunter’s side, staining the forest floor. Carefully, slowly, they drew their second blade, never taking their eyes off their prey. They kept their thoughts carefully blank, waiting for the vampire to make the next move.

Another drop of blood hit the ground and the creature leapt with a bone chilling snarl.

The hunter spun, too sharp claws slicing into their breastplate, the screech of metal filling the cold air. Their sword bit into the vampire’s chests, earning a pain screech as it skidding along the ground.

This time, they didn’t give it the chance to get back up.


	25. Armour

The armor sat on their bed, steel polished to perfection, and the purple sash next to it, an impossibility made real.  They still couldn’t believe it, still couldn’t believe that it had actually happened. That they had actually made it.   
  


That they were a hunter.   
  


They pulled the armor off the bed, turning it over as they studied it.  It wasn’t the most expensive armor, didn’t have the enchantments or engravings that the armor of some of their classmates held.   But that didn’t matter. It didn’t matter at all.   
  


The breastplate went on easily, well practiced fingers finding the straps and buckles and fitting the armor to their body.  Next came the arm guards, padding protecting their skin from the hard, unyielding metal. Their sword hung from their belt, potions clinking on 

their belt.   
  


Last came that purple sash, tied across their chest in plain view and they allowed themselves a moment of pride.   
  


Because the armor and the sash were theirs, a proof of what they’d gone through to get there.  All the long classes, countless late nights spent studying and training, the bumps, cuts, and bruises they’d earned.  Because that armor and that sash meant that they were what they’d always dreamed of being.   
  


And with a soft smile, they checked their armor one last time, before heading out to the hunt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not that happy with this one, but it's a thing?


	26. Magic

They would never fully get over the wonder of watching Ezra use magic.  In a way it was something they were so used to, the simple spells and elixirs that were such a normal part of their life since moving here.  Especially considering how many of their injuries Ezra had to patch up over that time.  But there was still something enthralling about watching him weave the spell, how easily he summons up the spell, wipes away the damage from whatever creature they’d been hunting. **  
**

His magic was seeped into the very brick of his shop, surrounding them as they moved through the house.  Even when they first arrived, it seemed to speak to them, whispering of safety, of warmth, that single mage light in the darkness beckoning them inside.  The longer they stayed in Lunaris the more they started to realize that the magic wasn’t just in the spells he cast, the elixirs he made.  As they got to know Ezra, got to know the others he’d helped, the others he’d healed, they understood.  Understood that even without his heritage, Ezra would still be the same, the healer, the man willing to care for the wayward souls that kept ending up on his doorstep.

Ezra himself was magic, and it was just one of the many reasons they kept falling in love with him.


	27. Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit shorter, but I'm battling a school paper for time to write these

Blythe had grown used to the dark.  Used to the creatures who haunted it.  Most of their nights were spent out in it, hunting creatures, or testing new potion recipes until the moon sank beyond the horizon.  The day brought light, no matter if it was clear or grey clouds covered the sky like a dense blanket. The light helped them sleep, banishing away the nightmares that haunted each dreaming heart beat.

 

When they first entered the academy, they didn’t realize how scarce the light would become once they graduated.  No one ever spoke of the restless nights outside of the hunt. Of the research, the hours pouring over old reports and half written statements.  Of the nightmares and night terrors that plagued even the most hardened of hunters.

 

No one told the recruits, so eager to become protectors of the daylit world that they would never fully be part of that world again.


	28. Chapter 28

They hated the feeling. That gnawing feeling deep within their chest, the ache that their potions couldn't seem to solve. Blythe knew they should be used to it by now. Knew they should have just accepted it as their lot in life. It was part of being a hunter after all. Part of the job as much as the creatures and the inevitable injuries.

But they still hated being alone.

It wasn't so bad when they had something to do. A job or a new recipe to throw themselves into, to bury the feeling under countless sleepless hours before collapsing in dreamless exhaustion. It would be better if they were constantly moving, going from city to city on a whim rather than waiting for the enforcers to send them their next assignment. Because then they'd have a reason to be alone, an excuse for not making the close connections.

It wasn't that they didn't make friends in the cities, shopkeepers they visited for potion supplies, other hunters, the friendly bar keep who had a love for their stories. But none of these friendships seemed to last. The shopkeepers and bar keeps couldn't understand the sleepless nights, the way they tensed at sudden noises, or paused in a conversation as something caught their attention. Other hunters were better, but they had their own traumas, their own nightmares and both parties knew there was no telling when or where they'd be reassigned.

At school it had been easier, Zeke a constant source of conversation and entertainment with his antics. But after graduation they been assigned to different cities, the letters only briefly staving off the nagging feeling in their chest.

The feeling of being utterly alone.


	29. Forgotten

Blythe didn’t remember much of their childhood home. Most of what they remembered came in flashes and brief dreams. They had been young when they lost everything but their sister, barely three years old. Tilda remembered it all too well, too many nights in the orphanage they were woken by her screaming as she bolted out of the nightmares that plagued her.   
  
They knew from a young age that family had a different meaning to her than it did to them. To them, family was their sister, the sole person they had on their side at the orphanage. Eventually that definition expanded, including the close friends they met at school, those they would lay down everything to protect. And then they came to Lunaris, and their family expanded even more.

But Tilda’s definition was different. To Tilda, family was the small house they no longer remembered. The warm hearth as their mother made dinner. Their father’s booming voice as he told them stories each night. All things Blythe didn’t remember, things they couldn’t remember about the family the creatures had taken when they were far too young.

And so they’d listen to her stories, listen to the tales about a family that held no meaning to them. And they’d never admit to her that they’d forgotten their parents’ faces.


	30. Scars

Scars were the lot of any hunter’s life. They came with the job, one could only fight the creatures that haunted the dark for so long without coming back with a scar or two. These marks and old injuries told the stories of a hunter’s life, what they had survived, a symbol of their growth.

Of course Blythe had their own scars, marks that they were proud of. The scars on their wrist from a vampire’s claws, the mark on their upper arm from a training accident, and the scar on their lip gotten during a fight with a demon. But two scars in particular had changed their life, and almost ended it.

Their largest scar was not one that they had receive in a hunt. It wasn’t even one that they had received as a hunter. Rather, the large burn that stretched across their left side and up their back had come from an accident at the academy. They could still remember the feeling of the potion hitting their skin, the sheer pain as it seared it, the look of panic on Zeke’s face when he realized what had happened. They knew that they had been lucky, managing to get the fire out so quickly, but they also knew how close it had been.

The scar that had come the closest to taking their life was the one on their right leg, the remnants of the surgery that had taken the limb. It had been on a hunt soon after they graduated, a werewolf that had taken a young girl. Blythe and Zeke had managed to track it, Zeke had taken the girl back to the village, and the beast had taken a chunk of Blythe’s leg. The bite should have changed them, would have changed them, if Zeke hadn’t cauterized the wound. Even after getting used to the prosthetic, both the limb and the scar acted as a reminder that they had survived. And that they would keep on surviving whatever was thrown their way.


	31. Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We have reached the finish line (and no one's more surprised than me that I actually managed to complete this in October)

When they were younger, Blythe was afraid of monsters. To be fair, most little children were, and growing up in an orphanage after creatures killed their parents hadn’t helped the situation. Neither had the obvious joy older children had taken in telling the younger ones all sorts of stories about the creatures that haunted the night. Demon, lycans, vampires, the stories always seemed to blur the line between reality and fiction. Blythe had spent too many late nights curled deep under their blankets because of those stories, terrified that at any minute the monsters would get them.

So, logically, when they got offered a chance to hunt the creatures that had seemed to plague their childhood, they jumped at the chance. A chance to take down those night time villains and keep other children from being scared.

But over the years their definition of monster had changed. They had learned that not all creatures were the monsters from the orphanage stories. Not every lycan was a raging beast, not every vampire a mindless blood sucker. They’d even managed to have interesting conversations with a few sirens, after politely asking them not to sing so close to shore of course. As they learned more about the creatures, got to know them as individuals rather than a race, Blythe had folded the childishness thoughts of monsters away.

But now, looking at the details of the murders they had just been assigned, they realized monsters did exist. Just not always in a form people easily recognized. So they packed their bags, readied their weapons, and headed off to their new assignment.

They arrived in Lunaris at dusk.


End file.
